TCOT Tell-Tale Tea
by StartWriting
Summary: Della Street, seventy one years of age, struggles with an issue and deals with it her way ... and his.
1. Mixed emotions

_This story is mine, the idea is mine, but the characters of course aren't...!_

_This is a re-post. The story was posted before, I did that myself last January on another site; my dear friend posted it a few weeks ago on this site. And afterwards, she had to read the most repulsive reaction to this story that was originally meant to comfort her with her mother's death. I'll refrain from extensively reacting on the very hurtful comments, varying from a comparison with another writer on this page - which was in a way a compliment for me, I'm Dutch, English is not my native tongue, and I consider it an honor if someone thinks it is - to the denial of a mother's death. _

_I could answer to these suggestions. But, well, I'mnotgoingtogo there. It's probably a waste of time. Rather, I would like to thank the people that did comment with warmth and compassion. _

_What I do wish to do now, here, is to express my deepest sympathy with all of us who did suffer from the loss of a dear one, amongst others: daughters that lose or have lost their mothers, and the family and friends who now, one year after she died, commemorate Michelle Weiner, one of the authors of Perry and Della stories on this site. Bless you all, and I do hope that fond memories will soon replace the pain and hurt of losing someone you love. _

_No need to say it's good to have seen the TVmovie 'TCOT Telltale Talkshow Host' before reading this one. _

_And, last but not least, I want to thank my wonderful patient beta OldEnglishD for beta'ing this for me. _

_Enjoy. _

* * *

**1. Mixed emotions  
**

Della Street, seventy one years of age, draped her arms over her head, and held her pillow. She tried to remain floating in the comfortable slumber she had been in since he'd left their embrace, and then their bed, some long or short moments ago.

It was reality that tugged at her. The aroma of good, strong coffee, his coffee, his starting anchor for the day, was oozing through the house now, a typical scent for a very early morning, a very early start for him. Coffee seemed to be necessary, to wake him up or otherwise.

He couldn't have had much sleep. Not very much more than she.

The thin soft flesh of her inner thighs was still sensitive, sensuously irritated by what they called his 'extra' beard - the strip of day-old stubble above his neatly trimmed regular beard. Mellowed and silkened with age, and groomed daily to within an inch of its life, it had become part of his personality. The stubble, also part of his personality, had left secret scratches, little imprints of a devious act. The indecency of it had been larger than the man himself, as would be his grin when he'd secretly recall it during the course of this day. She knew better than not to enjoy this silent, hidden pleasure with him.

She sighed, inhaled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee again, opened her eyes, and stared into the early morning darkness. She turned to lay on her side.

Her deeply rooted secretarial urge to know and to control, manage as much about the future as possible, had more than once resulted in reading signs, real or imagined, in the mud of coffee grounds. But one day she would not want to know about the future. She'd deny both future and present, that first day when she would only want to look back and find the past the most appropriate era to live in. The first day, when the truth and the universe would compel her to live without him.

The demons, if given room, left no opportunity unused to remind her of that day and they had visited again, in the deepest dark of the past night, the snake pit of unwelcome thoughts and profound fears that whirled when he was peacefully asleep and there were no clients, no phone calls, no files to open or to close. When there was nothing to distract her, when there was no rest to be found in her daily, trivial tasks, when the only place to hide was present in the warm arms of the man she feared to lose most.

And so she'd seek his closeness, his massive arms, the grey hair on his chest and his warmth for reassurance, to listen to the rhythmic sounds of his living body, yet, no matter how many heartbeats or breaths she counted, there was no banishment, no secret spell to be spoken to prevent this all from ending completely one day.

That one day.

She dreaded that first day.

That first day, when she had to wake up without him. Presuming she could ever sleep without him. But eventually, after fighting it, she would have to rest and she would sleep dreamlessly, and then she would have to wake up, eventually. She'd wake up alone and the daylight would hurt her eyes for the first time ever. It would tell her unkindly, make her aware harshly, that she was alone.

But she would wake up. There was no alternative, other than sleeping without awakening. That would be an alternative. But, to quote Perry Mason himself: an alternative, but not an option.

He'd whispered to her ear at times what she didn't want to hear, but what she had to know when the time would come. The text on his grave stone had to be : ___Perry Mason - Q.E.D._ , the abbreviaton for ___Quad erat demonstrandum_, a phrase he repeatedly translated as ___'what had to be proven, is proved'_ or, a little more dramatically and loosely translated : ___'the defense rests'_ or, when he was in a real humourous state of mind, as ___'Quite Easily Done'_.

A soft chuckle left her throat, though it was still thick with tears. His sense of humour was what she would miss most, probably, more than anything. More than the feel of her fingers on his shirt, unbuttoning the buttons there to enable her to rake through the chest hair she had seen maturing into an enticing tone of grey during all these years until now.

She turned to her other side, pulling up the warm and soft duvet over her shoulders and she stroked his deserted pillow, then hugged it to her.

The flip side of this coin of Fate was that one day ___he_ might have to wake up without ___her_. Sometimes he said he'd cease to exist instantly, he'd simply cancel or dismiss himself, he'd die together with her, joking about his favourite notion of simultaneousness and how he considered it his sacred task to accomplish as many moments of simultaneousness with her as humanly possible. Yet they both knew he wouldn't die with her. Hooked on life like she, he would muddle through somehow, possibly enjoy life without her, maybe just a little, despite the sharp fresh zest of the palpating pain that would be his constant companion. The pain would become a friend, maybe, hopefully, during that first year of firsts. The first birthday alone, the first Thanksgiving, Christmas … spring, summer, fall, winter.

The subject had been talked about, the taboo long gone. Life had had its way so far and had shown them both, that it just ended and ended for a reason, or no reason at all. Not discriminating, not being unfair, not favouring anyone. They had come to know Death as the most decent Judge of all. One verdict, never retiring, straight forward, clear. Unavoidable.

She had to urge herself to stop pondering, had to ignore the bitter aftertaste that dwelled in imagining this loneliness when alone. The demons had to leave, not just for now, but forever. It was of no use to think about his passing away, not now, not yet. He was still here, very much alive. To think about his parting from her for too long was a waste of time, fruitless, counterproductive.

And he was here, now, in this house, wasn't he ? At ease, having breakfast, probably reading yesterday's paper and surely drinking his coffee. It was early, it was still dark. He had left her alone, in bed, thought she was asleep and needed that. Loved her too much to wake her up for no other reason than to have her company.

And so she chose to doze a little longer, comfortably resting her warm blushing cheek on his now cool pillow. Snoozing on the pleasant memories of the night before, she inhaled deeply, contentedly.

The remains of the glorious love they'd made, that very essence of them together had left a lovely scent of sweet and salty mingling in the room.

He had started it, long after she had fallen asleep with her head on his chest. The reassuring warmth of his hand had been on the bare skin of her shoulder first, and was later resting comfortably on the perfect curve of her silk clad waist. He'd held her close, kissed and nuzzled her hair every now and then, when he turned the pages of the journal he was reading, and needed the hand he held her with for that reason. At one point he must have thrown the journal aside, and turned off the light. His fingers must have walked over the fabric that hugged her, because they'd always done it that way, tucking it up in exactly that manner, and this time they had found nothing that resembled any fabric underneath. Ever so slowly waking her up, invading her unconscious mind long before she realized he'd left their embrace, he had molded himself into a known pose underneath the duvet. He'd woken her up in the way he used to wake her up at the spectacular moments, not just in their younger days, when gymnastics in bed were more rule than exception. Neither his size, nor his age had ever stopped him from being his devious self in bed, when he didn't carry the weight of the world on his back. Just a duvet.

He'd made use of the wide expanse of the huge matress his own massiveness covered and covering, displaying a proficient agility only observable by the urgent sounds she made, fully conscious of what he was doing.

Dazed from the engulfing and overwhelming sensations, she'd slipped her hands under the duvet, down to where he ministered to her intimacy, while she was literally gasping at the relentless, pityless skilled labour of his cleverly gifted, sugaring mouth. And he hadn't shaved. Dear Lord, he hadn't shaved.

He'd elevated when she'd urged him to, brushing the furry, rugged bear-like torso against her susceptible skin, then without any extra effort he had shifted her body to lay it on its side, his arms comfortably circling her, one of his large hands on her breast, the other one on her navel. He'd eased into her, and in reaction her hand had reached behind her to grasp his side, his hip, while every slow stroking thrust left her more and more whole, and more.

Whole. And every time more alive than before, until long after she'd released his name, and he'd breathed his own final soft primordial grunt, biting her bare shoulder, the same shoulder where he'd started the caresses that had led them here. Sometimes the circle was perfectly round. Sometimes even the circle it was circling in, the orbit, was perfectly round.

It was at times like these she couldn't let him leave her, and just held onto him, strongly tightening her grasp on his arm around her, entangling her fingers with his on her navel, her other arm flung backwards still holding onto his thigh. She cried the tears silently. And he would let her cry the tears silently, patiently, and spill some of his own, sighing against her shoulder, holding onto her as if his life depended on it.

And sometimes, but only sometimes, like last night, he'd be inside her long enough to feel these tears and their cause subside, and the slight change in her breathing would alter his state, his actual physical state, no words would be needed, nothing would be to it, it happened, addicted as he was to the way he felt possessed by her. In advance, he'd taste the sweet sweat that was about to bathe her creamy skin again, and he had her again. Effortlessly.

And this would end one day too.

She sighed and turned again, felt restless. She couldn't rest without him. And it was getting lighter outside.

Of course there were two classical ways to look at this. There was an active choice to be made, consciously. Either living in the fear of nearing and inevitable Death, or living life to the fullest while it's still lasting. Have the cake, or eat it. And enjoy.

Della Street smiled, feeling blessed, because the decision had already been made for her. The demons could leave for now. Loving and living with Perry Mason meant the latter. Living with Perry Mason was tantamount to loving and living life to the fullest. He embodied it. Literally.

Having the cake with Perry Mason was the same as eating it.

The sound of his heavy footsteps drew her out of her bittersweet salty daydream, and she moaned sleepily.

Her eyes still closed, she automatically reached out for his cheek, before he kissed her. She tasted the coffee, breathed in the smell of it, his sweetened coffee. His lips grazed, the moist of his mouth waking up her senses like it had done the night before. A different time of the day, a different part of her body, almost the same effect.

She smiled as she turned towards his endearments, the sheet softly brushing the rash he'd left behind, not meant to be a reminder, but soon a fond memory.

" Are you leaving me ? " She asked softly.

" Yes. But it's early. " He whispered. " You don't have to wake up yet."

" What time is it ? "

" Half past five. I'm going to see Judge Nelson to ask his advice about Sheila Carlin's case. "

" You're going to see Judge Nelson? This early ? But he's retired. "

" I need his advice, and yes, this early, and yes, he's retired. He's fishing now. I'm meeting him at the lake. "

" About the case ? And admire the Judge's newest fishing gear, hmm ? "

Of course. Perry Mason was a master at combining work with pleasure. It was the basis of his life, his work. And, it was the basis of his relationship with her.

" Yes. That too. " The wideness of his smile was audible in his voice. She heard and felt his thrill, his young excitement. There was nothing to it. As the years had made them older, their senses just seemed to mingle into one, seeing and hearing, feeling, smelling, tasting. Making sense. She would never make sense without this man. She could have made sense before meeting him, before falling into love and life with him, maybe, but not now, not anymore.

" I'll see you at the office, baby. " He struggled to stand up, grabbed his cane and stumbled toward the door.

" All right, Perry … "

He turned. The wistful tone and the meaning of her words were mismatched. The contradiction hit him. One hand on the doorframe, the other one holding his cane, he looked straight into her eyes, knowing by heart where they were exactly in the dark bedroom, and he said out loud what he had been wanting to say at a moment, just a few hours ago, when she had crawled into his arms, shaking like a frightened child. " Stop thinking so much, Della. "

" I love you. " It was not a logical thing to say. The words were always welcome, he knew it was true, but now, they were simply not logical.

He sat back down next to her on the matress, leaning forward over her face, his warm breath comforting her before he spoke the words that would do the same. " Tell the demons to go away, Della. I noticed them. You nearly climbed inside me a few hours ago. "

" The demons can't keep me awake when I'm in your arms … " Her low honest voice told him the truth.

" Maybe. But they are still present somehow, and when I'm gone, they come back. " He couldn't possibly know how right he was. " Tell them to go away and leave you alone, Della. I might become jealous from how much time you spend with them. "

" I'll try. "

" Don't ___try_ it, Della. ___Do_ it. " His large hand rested on her hip briefly before he hefted himself off the bed and walked with as little reliance on his cane as possible, for her sake. Shadowed in the doorway once again, he stood straight and tall. " And I love you too. I'll need at least another forty years to make sure you know exactly how much. Remember that. Then send the demons away. "

- TBC -


	2. Mystical Mixture

_Thank you for reading this, and thank you for your support and kindness. It's very, very much appreciated, and not just by me._

_There is a little reference to TCOT Skindeep Scandal in this chapter. Maybe you can let me know if you find it. _

**2. Mystical Mixture  
**

" What is that? " Perry grunted at the hand that placed a green and white paper cup in front of him. The plastic black lid had a little hole in it, through which the aroma of strong coffee escaped. It was solid, black coffee, usually welcome at any moment during the day, but not now.

Ken threw his suitcase on one of the two chairs in front of Perry's desk, and sat down in the other. " Got you a cup of coffee, Perry. Down from that little cafeteria from the other side of the street here. Remember ? "

Perry mumbled something inaudible.

" With all the tea you've been forced to drink, I thought you could use some coffee. "

" What are you talking about? " Perry said, without looking up from his documents.

" It's your necessity of life. "

" What? " Perry shortly looked up, and then looked back at his papers again.

" Coffee is, Perry. "

" What in the world? Coffee is ___what_ to me ? Ken, what are you talking about? " Perry frowned at him, the look uncharacteristically questioning for this hour of the day in the office. Perry tried to concentrate, but couldn't and was now confronted with an associate that spoke to him in an occult code he couldn't decipher. Maybe he did need the coffee that had just been served to him.

" Well, uhm, I believed that coffee was your first necessity. "

" Now, where did you get that idea? " Perry took of his glasses, finally tearing himself loose from the contents of what he had been concentrating on.

" That's what you always say in the morning when you have your first cup in the office. "

" My God, Ken … " A short snorting laugh pursed Perry's lips. " You're so … "

" What, Perry? "

" You don't have a clue, do you? "

" Uhm ... no. "

" Well, it's not the coffee … " It was close to a snap.

" It's not ? Then why do you say it's your first necessity when it's served? "

" Ken … Mind your own words. Listen to what you're saying exactly … ___' when it's served'._ "

" I'm sorry, but I don't understand, Perry. "

" It's not the coffee, Ken, coffee could never be a life necessity for me … " Perry shortly, decisively shook his head.

" It couldn't ? "

" No. It's not the coffee, not the tea, not the sandwiches, not the fruit … " Perry summed it up from an unwritten list he knew by heart, and stood up, his hands leaning on the desk, unelegantly. His hand grabbed his thigh. Different time, different place, different hand, same effect. Continuance. " It's not the files, not the typing or taking dictation, not that puttering after me with my pills … "

Ken widened his eyes in utter incomprehension. " What do you mean, Perry ? I mean, it's not even lunch time, quite early yet, for me anyway. My senses aren't fully prepared to understand what you're saying. "

" It's not about ___what _is brought to me … or ___what_ is done for me. "

" Oh. " Awareness dawned. " It's about ___who_ br … " Ken was cut off by the sudden burst of light coming out of the door next to them. Entering from her own office, concentrated on the task at hand and in her hands, a tray with two blue cups and saucers, Della Street radiated her usual grace in generous, unmeasurable amounts.

Perry Mason's lips parted, but not to sum up the items on the next unwritten list. Perfect make up, exquisite hair, the flawless whiter-than-white blouse, a tailor-made short black vest embellished by a little red bow attached to it like a brooch. She wore a smile to match her appearance.

Elegantly, but very precisely and accurately she closed the door behind her with a compact, dignified kick backwards, performed by one delicate black heeled foot. She sought for her balance for one second, and turned to her spectators, one of them amused, one of them in a state best described as awestruck.

'___Handsome' _and ___'attractive' _were understatements, Ken knew that. He was a man of the world, or liked to call himself that, so he was very well aware of the charming refinement of Della Street's amazing beauty, natural, pristine maybe, or divine even, and so consuming that even Perry Mason actually deployed it at times, mainly to calm his clients down. Ken had secretly laughed about the soothing effects she had on nervous clients. He knew about it. He had been one himself. But what really humoured him was the huge impact she ___always_ had on the huge Perry Mason himself, especially in unguarded moments like these.

Without fully realizing, she was using it to her advantage only at the times someone else could benefit from it too. Not rarely, the main other benificiary was Perry Mason. Win-win. Della Street was an expert on how to create win-win-situations, and used it, considering win-lose just an alternative.

An alternative, but not an option.

A near inaudible moan left his boss' throat, Ken perceived it. He saw the gruff, giant posture open up, the shoulders visibly relax and his back straighten. Perry Mason became even larger now, his hands releasing their tight grip on his documents a little, and he breathed deeply, evenly. One hand went up and lingered next to his temple, grasping at the frame of his glasses to take them off, but he missed. Ken grinned. The second attempt was succesful. The glasses were thrown on the desk, nearly fell off and were stopped by the prompt grab of Ken's young fingers.

" Ah … I think I understand what you mean now, Perry. " Clarity had appeared on Kenneth Malansky's face, and he hid his smile behind the hand that had caught Perry's glasses.

Of course, ___nothing_ that was brought to Perry Mason could in whatever form be a life necessity. Nothing, ___no thing_ was a life necessity for Perry Mason.

Ken immensely enjoyed the second act of this show, twenty seconds of pure live entertainment in front of him, performed by two senior, experienced actors, possibly unaware of their close to conjugal chemistry, sparkling. The etched lines on Perry's facial skin smoothed, the deep frown softened and a blush appeared on the pale cheekbones.

Was Della Street, seventy one years of age, rejuvenating the eminent appearance of the oldest man in the room simply by being there with him? Making him the best man he could think of that way? Ken watched her more closely, contemplating, the detective in him investigating what it was she did exactly to cause this effect. All she did, ostensibly, was shine. And all Perry had to do and did was reflect, and that was in fact reflecting back on her. It was a full circle motion, an orbit, and he couldn't be sure who had started it, but he was very sure they kept each other bright and awake this way. As a matter of speech.

" Was I interrupting something important? " Della asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

" No. " Ken said.

" Yes. " Perry said at the same moment.

" Uh. All right. " Della nodded. " Well, I'll be at my desk if you need anything. I'll leave this here … " She carefully placed the tray on Perry's desk and turned.

" No, no, stay here please, Della. I need you with me. " She pivoted and waited in her typical pose, her hands clasped in front of her, one eyebrow raised. Perry turned his head and addressed Ken, before sinking down on his chair again. " Do you need me to explain it still ? "

" No." Ken shook his head. " Don't bother. I get it. ___Res ipsa loquitur_. It speaks for itself. I guess I could have known. "

" ___Yea-eah. _" Perry mouthed, and rolled his eyes. " Yes, you could and you should have known. " He picked up the documents he had been trying to concentrate on before, then thought of something and looked at Ken again. His voice groaned. " And don't ___'latinize'_ me, Malansky. I'm too old to be impressed by the use of Latin quotes. "

" You are too old to be impressed by Latin quotes ? "

" Yes. I can only be impressed if I use one myself. A good one. " He smirked, looked at no one in particular and dove back into the text again.

Della chuckled, shaking her head. Ken just made a dismissive gesture.

Eyeing one of the paper cups on the desk warily, Della frowned. " What's this ? " She picked up the item, smelled at it and glanced sidewards. " Ken? Why did you bring him coffee ? "

" Oh, it's uh … it's mine, Della. " Ken quickly said.

" No, it's not. You have your own, there. " She gestured at the other paper cup on the other side of the desk with her chin. " You brought it in for Perry. Now, why did you bring him coffee ? "

" Oh … I uh … I made a mistake. "

" Yes, you did. " She watched Ken sternly.

" Ken thought it was one of my life necessities. " Perry said softly.

" Coffee ? A life necessity? " She shook her head, and rolled her eyes.

" Well, he thought so. And when you came in, we were just talking about the ___real_ life necessities ... "

" ___Health_, for one. " Della sighed, looked around shortly, with the paper cup in her hand. " I have made you another tea, which is much better for you than coffee. " Then she decisively poured the black strong liquid out of the paper cup into the potting soil of a plant in a corner of the office.

Ken looked at this action incredulous. " Della, what ___are_ you doing ? "

" What's the matter? " She shrugged. " Caffeine's good for plants, Ken. Like theine, from normal black tea. Didn't you know that ? "

" No. " Ken remarked. " And I always thought that theine and caffeine were just two words for the same chemical substance. "

" No, I don't think so. " Della said, hesitantly.

" Yeah. " Ken retorted. " Only the amount of caffeine in tea is different. It's less concentrated in tea, but it still is caffeine … "

Only Perry's eyes moved from his papers, upwards to Ken, who nodded at him, then to Della, and then back to Ken again.

" Well, there should be none in the new herbal teas I have here now. " Della said.

" ___Should be_, yeah. But, how sure are you ? And what's wrong with caffeine anyway ? " Ken added. " It's also in the cocoa I drink at night, to keep me awake and sharp. And I think it keeps ___him … _" he pointed at Perry with his chin " … more awake than anything else … "

" Mind your words, Ken. " Perry murmured from over his documents, absent mindedly, not really paying attention, but registering the contents of what he had just heard, just in case it would become important.

" You, Ken … " Della fluttered her lashes and sighed. " Get rid of that paper cup, you. And Perry, speaking of tea … " She straightened her shoulders, and directed her attention to the tray she had brought in with her earlier.

" What is that? " Perry glanced at the blue cup and saucer Della held out to him.

" Try it, Perry. "

" Odd … uhm … " He smelled at the cup's contents. " Odd uhm … " His stare was not completely definable, a cross between questioning and suspicious.

" It's a very special tea. It's supposed to relax you. It's called ___'Mystical Mixture'_. "

The name of the tea caused a very sophisticated small smile that barely reached his eyes, and he watched her walking away, throwing a saucy look from over her shoulder. She articulated her next words with extra care. " Let me know how you feel in an hour … "

His stare followed her. The start of another endearing naughty smile bedeviled his face, but only the start of it. Ken was still with them, after all.

" You know your witchcraft, don't you, Della Street ? " Perry groaned. " In an hour ? "

" Mmm-mmm. "

" Is that how long it will be before it takes effect? An hour? "

" Mmm-mmm. "

" I'll uh … I'll let you know. " He used her own favourite answer to distantiate herself from any question asked. The words sounded awkward coming from his lips.

" Please do … " She squeezed her eyes at him and left his office.

The clock on his desk patiently started ticking the forementioned sixty minutes away.

Ken had left both his cups, the tea, and the coffee at Perry's desk. The hour hadn't quite passed yet, when Perry heard the turning of a key in the locks of the office's outer doors, but he didn't pay any particular attention. He did register it, automatically, unconsciously, just in case it would become important.

He reached out for his cup of tea, only to find it was already empty. The letters of the text he was reading started dancing on the papers. He swallowed. Only one person could make this happen, only one lady had the magical touch to evoke this. She had to be close now.

She was very close indeed.

He looked up.

" So, now that the hour has almost passed, how do you feel ? " She was swaying towards him, while her smiling flushed face embellished her shrouded dark eyes. This gleam was deliriously fascinating, he could watch it for days on end, that seductive twinkle that hid whatever needed to be hidden. From the outside world that was, it needed to be hidden from the outside world. The world that had no business whatsoever with the unlisted courtship dance that was going on here. Openly sexily inviting him like this, she was his only, confidential and confident by nature and profession, every man's dream, but only his to have.

And what was she bringing him now ? What would she surprise him with this time ?

" I haven't noticed an actual physical change yet. " His own deep voice sounded. He played along with her, allowed the stirrings to surface gradually, controlled them.

" Are you sure ? " She stood still next to him, perched her hip against his desk.

" Yes. " He mirrored her posture automatically, tilting his head, squeezing his eyes together. One of her hands reached out for his face, and caressed his hair, then her slender forefinger teasingly outlined his ear slowly.

Pen and papers were dropped. " What can I do for you, Miss ? "

" Well … " She dawdled, drawing circles on his desk with the same forefinger. His lips parted unvoluntarily.

" Well … ? " His eyes grew larger.

" I need attention. " He knew the taste of this voice, the flirtatiousness fluttered towards him and by complete contradiction fiercely clawed at him.

" Oh. Attention. " He nodded, watched her from under thick lashes, his mouth watering, as if he ate something delicate that was not in his mouth. Yet. " What kind of attention? "

" The special kind of attention. " She shook off her heels. He watched her doing it, recognizing it as a prelude of an act of pure devilment. It caught his breath.

All other present sounds disappeared.

He sat back, amused, as she pushed his desk chair back, slipped her hands underneath his jacket lapels, over his shoulders and tugged his jacket off. But not completely. She concentrated on shrugging it off until halfway down his upper arms, making sure he couldn't move his lower arms anymore. He enjoyed the idea of being restricted like that, and it was reminding him of another time, another place, when he had tied ___her_ hands to make sure she couldn't move. He won a fishing game that day. If he hadn't tied her upo, she would have won it. He wondered if this was her revenge.

Her red painted lips indeed mouthed " Doomed … "

" Doomed, hmmm …. ? " He smirked. It ___was_ her revenge.

She sat down on the desk in front of him elegantly. He simply looked at her, very obviously admiring the womanly features that were so freely disposed now, and visible to his tried and tested imagination. " Did you take some of that tea, too, dear ? "

" Yes, I did … have some of that tea … Was it as good for you as it was for me … Chief ? " She smacked her lips. Was this really Della Street ?

" ___Chief_ ? Hmmm … " He inhaled deeply. " ___You_ very clearly feel different, Miss-Chief. " Were those his own words ?

" Miss Chief ? " Even her giggle was different.

" Yes. Miss Chief. I know what it is like to devote my life to one job, to one woman. " What ___was_ he saying ? These were not his lines, were they ? They were ridiculous in this context. It was true, but it wasn't logical to say this now, and that was put mildly.

" Uh. One woman, hmmm. Lady Justice ? "

" Noooo. Lady Della Street … " The words just slurred out of his mouth again, seemingly uncontrolled. He was astonished. What was going on here ?

" Oh. Mischief … I see … so you call me Miss Chief … And does that mean I'm in charge now ? " She fingered the curls at the nape of her neck. Her hips wiggled, uncharacteristically. She'd never done this. Not in this way. Never.

" You've always been in charge, Della. You have your ways of making me think it's me, you've always made the outside world think it was me, but it has been you all the time … You decide what to do, I decide when to do it. " That wasn't true, it was exactly the opposite: he decided what to do, she decided when to do it. Why did he say that ? What was wrong with his mouth ?

Something that resembled a snicker sounded, it wasn't very indisputably apparent if it was his or hers, but it was very clear that she drew his head in her direction, but not upwards to her beautifully flushing face for a kiss … Her knees parted. He grinned deviously, following the woman's orders without having heard her utter them.

His young crooked smirk expressed the age-old thrill of realisation that the impeccable lady had it in her to not wear undergarments at both spectacular and unspectacular moments, bringing him the alluring pleasure of genuine, enjoyable inconvenience at times. This time, with his arms plastered against his body, restrained to move by his own jacket sleeves, he only had his mouth to …

" Perry ? Perry ? " Suddenly, it was her voice that caressed his ears instead of the tenacious fingers he'd just felt there. His jacket sleeves were no longer restricting his movements and he shook his arms. He opened his eyes, blinked. Sat up. Swallowed. Coughed. Blinked again.

" Were you sleeping ? " She said incredulously. Standing in front of his desk, she was reaching out for his empty cup. Her hand hung in the air undecisively. " You were sleeping? "

" Well … " Perry shrugged, and grunted. " I must have fallen asleep because of that tea you've been foisting me … I've never fallen asleep behind my desk in my chair like this. "

" Oh, you have. Of course you have. I can't count the number of times you have fallen asleep above your files. I think I have wiped more ink off your cheeks than lipstick. "

He smiled inwardly. " It must have been your tea. Your '___Mystical Mixture'_."

" What about my ___Mystical Mixture_ ? "

" It's supposed to relax me, right ? "

" Yes. So ? "

" It doesn't. "

She snorted at this ridiculous statement. " Yes, it does. I just caught you sleeping behind your desk. It ___does_ relax you. "

" It's not relaxing me. " He was persisent.

" Oh, I see … " Her usual reaction when she didn't want to argue. But she rolled her eyes, a gesture that simply could not be ignored.

" Not relaxing me at all. "

" What ever you say, Perry. "

" Not. At. All. "

" I see… "

He pushed his chair back from the desk, and she glanced at him, giving him a quick once over.

" Oh … _I see_ … " She cleared her throat.

" Yessss, ___you see_. " His voice was accusing.

" So, and that's uh … because of the tea ? "

" Yes. I never have this kind of trouble when I'm on coffee. "

" Uh. "

" It must be the tea. "

" No, Perry, no. "

" It must be. I've always been able to ignore your beauty, to focus on my work. "

" What? Always ? "

" Well, most of the time. "

" Uh-uh. "

" Well, not all the time … "

" Uh-uh. "

" During office hours anyway … "

" Mmm-mmm ? "

" All right … during office hours between nine and twelve … "

She chuckled softly. " Uh-uh. "

He smiled. " … during office hours, between nine and twelve, on Thursdays … "

" Uh-uh. " She chuckled louder.

He snorted, started laughing. " … for a few minutes … "

She laughed louder.

" ...while we're in court … "

" … with Judge Nelson preciding … " She added.

They both laughed out loud.

" All I can say, Perry, is that the tea is not supposed to be an aphrodisiac. I'd better check the ingredients next time. " She tilted her head, and accompanied the gesture with a quick eye squeeze, the trademark one, the one that could make him come out of his skin if he knew how to.

" You'd better, Miss. "

" Are you sure this … condition wasn't caused by a particular someone or situation you were dreaming about? "

" Maybe. " But the slight flare of his nostrils betrayed him.

" I hope it was me, Perry … "

" Oh yes, it was you, but it wasn't. You were … different. "

" Different? And … what was I doing ? "

" Well … " he cleared his throat, his eyes wide open in long misschief. " Something you haven't done in a long, long time … and differently. "

" Ah. I don't think I want to know … " She said innocently and perched her hip against the desk as if she actually wanted to take the place that was devoid of documents that had been there, before, yes, before he had fallen asleep.

" No, don't. " Perry said briskly, almost jumping up.

" Uh-uh. " Della said, chuckling, while he sat back in his chair. " I really don't want to know why. "

" It'd be the death of Ken Malansky if he caught us in the way I just dreamed about … " Perry chuckled, brought his hand to his mouth and stroked his beard a few times. In reaction to his dimpled grin, she raised one perfect eyebrow, unmistakably representing a perfect question mark.

" Keep wondering, Della. "

" Oh, I will, Perry, I will … "

He started reading again. The blue cups and saucers were placed on the tray, and she leaned onto the desk.

She lingered and he noticed and so he looked up from the documents in his hands. Struck by a gaze he recognized from when he was very close to her in a particular way, and only then, he squeezed his eyes together. " Della? "

" I love you. " She whispered softly.

___I love you too_. Not aware that he was answering her with his eyes only, he whispered. " Baby ? "

" I was just thinking … I don't know many people that have what we have. "

" What's that? " But his eyes told her he knew.

" Living and working like this, together. "

A short affirming moan sounded.

" We're good together in every possible way, Perry. And we share this ridiculous sense of humour on top of everything else that's good. And sometimes I realize that … some day in the near future maybe … one of us … " She shook her head. " Oh Perry, I wouldn't know how to move on without you. "

" Oh." He nodded. " So, that's the reason for your demon's visits, isn't it ? These last few nights ? "

" Yes. Last night they were extremely dominant. " She shrugged. " I suppose this goes through everybody's mind every now and then. It does get to me at times. "

" And then the demons tell you to start making me these healthy herbal teas instead of the solid coffee I thrive on. "

" I suppose. " She smiled, velveting his own smile.

___God, I love you, Della Street._ " To get me off coffee. " He said softly.

" Tea's good for you. It's better than coffee anyway. And these herbs are healthy and... "

" Are they ? Do you believe I'll live longer if I drink only your tea from now on ? "

" Yes. Well, I don't know, but I do know it's better for you. "

" Well, I'll drink it. "

" You will? "

" Sure. I'll drink anything you give to me. Just alternate it sometimes. With something different. "

" You'll drink anything I give to you? " She looked at him suspiciously.

" Yes. Do you want to know why ? "

" Yes. Yes. Of course I do. "

" Do you want to know the secret I was telling Ken Malansky when you walked in ? "

" Tell me. "

" I'll drink whatever you want me to drink, Della Street, because as long as ___you_ make it for me, and as long as ___you_ bring it to me, it's going to make me live longer. "

" You're going to say something incredibly sweet now, aren't you … ? " She thought it, saw it coming, and said it out loud, swallowed.

" Maybe … " He reached out for her hand, his hoarse old voice soft and warming her from the inside out. " Della Street, ___every_thing you make, every, every, every single thing you do, every day with you, everything you start, everything you finish, is worth living longer for. But more importantly … " The blue pearls seized her, underlined the full meaning of his words, the occasional blink functioning as a punctuation mark. " Della, to me, ___living with you_, makes me healthier and lengthens my life. ___You_ are my mystical mixture. My elixir. " He let go of her hand, stood up lightly, and captured her slender upper arms. " I've been living under your spell very happily for a very long, long time, Della … and if you let me, I'll continue to do that for a long long time. "

" Perry … " All she could say, sighing, was his name. She meant to say ___'I love you'_, but she sighed his name, and at times like these, that was the same. Meant the same. Different pronounciation, different letters, same effect.

" I would have been long dead without you. It's all about you. It's always about you. It has always all been about you. " He moved his lips closer to hers to kiss her, a pose for which he had to bow for her, and he did that happily. He whispered. " An elixir. " He opened his lips and kissed her. Once, twice, three times, deeply. " An elixir … ___and_ an aphrodisiac. "

" Perry … "

" It's the most ultimate truth. So, tell your demons to get lost. It's no use to have them around. "

" Don't they bother you at times? "

" Yes and no. I'm bothered by them when they cause you trouble. I'm not bothered by them myself. Not anymore. "

She looked at him, honestly. " I can't just ___tell_ these demons to leave, I need to get rid of them in another way. "

" Call them different then. And look at them in a different way. Listen to them differently. "

" What do you mean? It doesn't make sense to me. "

" I like to look at them as if they are the angels that tell you to take even better care of me by making me tea instead of coffee, to make me healthier. They steer your thinking in a good way. " He looked down at the carpet. " Now, look. " The attorney in Perry Mason, that other side of this amazing man, shone through by the changing tone of his voice. He started pleading to her, a habit she used to dislike when they were younger, but gradually and more and more understood as his way to distantiate himself from painful subjects. " There are two ways to look at this. You know them. I like the second way, that prescribes to have fun as much as possible and for as long as possible." He kissed her forehead long and lingering, then let go.

" Now, isn't there a tea for that ? " He grinned, moaned a little while sitting down on the big leather desk chair again.

" There must be. " She smiled. " It's probably called ___Carpe Diem_ or something. "

" Isn't that Latin? " He asked, raising one furred brow.

She made a dismissive gesture. " Oh, you know it is. And you know what it means … "

" Do I? "

" You know it means ___'Seize the day'_. "

" ___'Seize the day'_. Mmmm-mmm. " He took her hand. " Seize the dame. " He murmured. " Darling. "

" Perry ? "

" When was the last time you sat on my lap here? "

" Uh. Ten minutes ago, in your dream … "

" Oh, no. " He inhaled deeply, and looked the other way. " That's not what you were doing … You were not exactly sitting on my lap. "

" Oh. Then what was I doing in your dream? "

" I'll uh … I'll let you know. "

" Have you forgotten already ? "

He set his jaws playfully, his blue eyes wide open, and pulled at her arm while sitting down on his chair. " I'll let you know that too … Now, come here. "

" I might agree that it must be the tea that made you dream that wicked… " She sat down on his left leg gently, slowly, not to hurt him, carefully snaking one arm around his neck.

" Mmm ? " He was too busy concentrating on the perfect pores of her neck and the small V-neck of her flawless whiter-than-white blouse, debating if he should bite or kiss the little strip of skin exposed there. " I think the last time you sat here with me on this chair, was before the surgery. " He whispered against her neck, then bit her there.

She gasped, and slapped his cheek. " Four years ago? No … "

" Yes, I think so. " He looked into her eyes and simply kissed her. Softly. Her hands stroked his cheeks while the office sounds faded away, the traffic outside stopped, the phone was quiet, as was the fax, and all machinery that was around them. All mechanical devices had the reassuring decency that could be expected from the world outside, respecting the silent and solid passion that was rising.

" Della … " He moaned. She echoed it.

A loud protesting creak emanated from the chair.

" Oh, dear … " She chuckled.

" Perhaps you'd better sit on the desk after all. "

" Maybe. " She leaned sideways to be kissed again.

" Baby … " He breathed against her mouth. " My beautiful baby. "

As if things ___would_ ever change with age. His large strong arms were around her, his hands stroking her waist and slipping underneath her carefully buttoned short black vest first, then underneath the white fabric of her blouse. There was no slip today. She dwelled in his caress on her bare skin, warming it, or warming his hands on her. Giving and taking. Perry Mason's own witchcraft completely overwhelmed her, his tongue evil while energizing her senses for the third time that day.

Weren't the most powerful witches in history in fact male ?

" I love you, baby. " He intertwined his fingers in her hair.

" Oh, jeezz you guys, I'm sorry I forgot to knock this time. " Clearly agitated, Ken Malansky stood two paces inside Perry's office, rubbing his neck, and shaking his head. " Isn't there a tea against uh … ___that _? "

" Against what? "

" That … that … " Ken gestured clumsily towards them, carefully keeping his eyes directed at the wall next to him. " that … hanky panky stuff you're doing. "

" … ___hanky panky stuff_ … " Della chuckled low, and straightened her skirt while standing up, the blush on her cheeks humouring Perry so much he couldn't contain his own chuckle. " How old are you, Ken ? Using these words ? I start to believe you've been around us for too long … "

" Yeah. Well, you know, I just don't feel very well running into you. "

" I'm sorry, Ken, we shouldn't make you feel uncomfortable like this … " Perry said.

" It's not really that you make me feel uncomfortable … Not like that … I know you well enough to know ... that that is what you do." His shoulders sunk in. " It's more like … uh … I feel some kind of jealous … "

Only Perry's eyes moved to exchange glances with the amazing lady at his side.

" I'd just like to have what you have when I'm your age. And now, really ... " Ken hesitated charmingly. " And it does tend to happen a lot lately, you know, I run into you a lot. "

" It must be the tea … " Perry mumbled.

" It can't be the tea. It's … " Della said sternly.

" … relaxing me. " Perry added.

" I'll say. " Della raised her brows.

" It's taking my mind of the job … " a laughing snort escaped Perry " ... momentarily. "

" I'll say. " Della added.

" Ah … jeeezz. " Ken said, exasperated. " Your ridiculous sense of humour is going to be the death of me one day. "

" Amongst others. " Perry murmured.

" What's that, Perry ? " Ken asked.

" Nothing. " Perry stood up, stretching his limps extensively. He picked up his cane, and reached out for for her hand, to squeeze it, hold it a little longer than necessary. It was a substitute for a kiss. A poor substitute, but a substitute.

" Are you going somewhere? " She pulled her hand back.

" I'm going to the Pearl Oyster Bar again. I think the key to this case is there somewhere. The owner knows more than he's willing to let go. "

" The Pearl Oyster Bar? And are you going to have lunch there too? " Ken asked.

" Yes. That's a good idea. "

" Oysters? "

" Yes. "

" You can have mussels there as well. "

" Why the Hell would I have mussels in an oyster bar? "

" Let's say, I'd avoid oysters for a while, if I were you. " Ken threw it in as if it was a usual comment.

" If you were me… ? " Perry raised his brows.

" Yeah, well, If I were you, I wouldn't … but you being you … you wouldn't … you shouldn't … "

" Ken, what the Hell ? What are you saying? " Perry frowned in pure incomprehension. " Let me tell you, if I were ___you_ … ___I'd _stop drinking coffee. "

Ken laughed. " What I meant to say, is that I think, oysters combined with the tea, can only make things worse."

" What things? Worse? "

" Well, how can I say this politely? Uhm … If you do have oysters … ___don't tell me _how you feel in an hour … " Ken said it politely.

Della laughed out loud, rolling the chuckles out long after Perry had left the office.

- TBC -

_AN: Very rarely, it happens that the two different parts (the two halfs) of a coffee bean become one during their growing proces. If so, the bean is called 'pearl'. _  
_  
_


	3. Mixing work with pleasure

**3. Mixing work with pleasure  
**

The secretary that was Della Street was seated on the couch, taking dictation, the paperwork on Sheila Carlin's case covered the coffee table and part of the surrounding carpet. The turmoil didn't bother her otherwise organized nature, that organized nature knowing that he sometimes needed the dynamics of the mess he made to think more clearly. Chaostheory, even at its smallest in this office had resulted in the largest, most creative solutions earlier. Why would this be an exception?

So, she just sat still, watching him put his thoughts together. He used his cane, paced through the office, circled the couch, and thus her, and every now and then he sank down on an armrest, looked at her thoughtfully, searched her face for clues. And she let him do so patiently. Then he scratched his neck or his hair, thought of something and stood up again to proceed his ellipses.

Now, he struggled to stand up, leaning on his cane heavily. Seemingly about to start dictating again, he opened his mouth, but didn't say anything that she expected. Her pen waited above her paper to startwriting.

" Just a minute, Della, I need the … uhm ... " He gestured to the bathroom.

" Again? "

" Yes, again. "

" You just went a few minutes ago. Are you okay, Perry? "

" Yessss, I am. " He answered gruffly.

" You must be getting old, Perry. It's what happens to older men, you know. They uhm … "

He cut her off. " It's not my age, Della. It is your tea. "

" No. " She shook her head. " It's not. "

" Yes, it is. "

" Whatever you say, Perry. " She smiled at him with pursed lips, and he made a dismissive gesture.

" What's the name of this tea blend anyway ? ___Veni vidi urinati_ ?"

Quickly translating it, she laughed out loud. " Oh, don't you latinize me, Perry Mason … "

" I did like it myself … " He grinned around the doorframe, and left.

She glanced at him curiously and cautiously when he came back, and recognized the state of absolute absent-mindedness. It was one of his most common rituals, one that needed her upmost attention, for he could seriously forget his personal and private self when he was like this, his habits eaten up by his own thoughts, consumed by the confusion that was needed before fully understanding the process and unwinding his thoughts.

The ritual itself was usually characterized, embellished even, by his most endearing features. She tilted her head, and took them in, enjoyed them as always. The beard was all ruffled up, his thin grey hair mussed in the best possible way. He was half dressed, shirt tails hanging loosely along his thighs, his zipper still undone, his belt still open as if he had been rushed out of the privacy of the bathroom. And he probably was, rushed out by a thought, a hunch, something that he hadn't thought of before, something that would be of incredible importance to the case. For now.

Something that needed immediate attention.

The cane was an unneeded supporting item at this point, since he walked easily and even kind of lightly, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

She waited patiently, smiled softly. He started talking, using her name first as if it was necessary to catch her attention that way. As if he wasn't already the center of her undivided concentration. All day. Every day.

" Della. I was thinking about this Winslow Keene … You know I'd been on his radio show before he died … " he groaned low, in deep thought, scratching his neck in upwards movements, fuzzing his hair even more, then stroking one hand down over his face, grasping at his beard. " … something is not fitting in … why would anyone … " He grabbed a pen and made a quick note. " … it's just not making sense … " He noticed the silence, interpreted it as a token of her fond amusement, stared at her, and changed his tone of voice to match his puzzled look. " What ? "

" Look at you. " She said it softly, in a not very convincing accusing tone. He was, after all, still in the fragile thinking modus.

" What ? "

" Look at you. " She just replied.

He did look down at himself and snorted. It was him, but different. " So? "

" Well, you're not really completely dressed are you ? "

He shrugged. " No. But it's just you and me in here right now … and … I do have some loose ends there … " He pointed at his temple, then the coffee table, grinned, " … and so I'm having some loose ends here … " then tucked his shirttails into his trousers, pulled the zipper up and buckled his belt. " Were you offended by the way I wasn't dressed? " He looked at her, from under his thick lashes, over deep dimples. The same dimples defined the line above which he shaved, they had to be visible, just in case they had to be used to get away with any kind of misbehaviour.

" No, I wasn't offended. I don't think you can do anything to offend me. Not anymore. " She shook her head. " But what do you think people will say if they knew you buckle and unbuckle everything right in front of me, as if there's nothing to it ? "

" There ___is_ nothing to it, Della. And nobody knows it's happening, ___now_. " He mumbled. " But, everybody does know about us, and I couldn't care less. "

She laughed again. " You look like a mad scientist. Anyone walking in here now would seriously think you've lost your mind. "

" Lost my mind? "

" Either that or that you have just been in a very … uh … "

" Yes … "

She looked up at him, lovingly, playfully, the Della Street way. " Uh … compromising uh … "

" … compromising … " He repeated, as playfully.

" Situation. "

" A very ___compromising situation_, hmmm? " He turned his eyes to the ceiling and grinned. Then looked back at her, his eyes gleaming. " Wouldn't that be the same? Me having lost my mind or having been in a compromising situation? Two ways to describe the same state ? "

" Maybe. " She shrugged, and fluttered her lashes.

" No, not ___maybe, _Della Street. It is the same. Two sides of the same coin. " He leaned forward a little, with one hand in his pocket. " Both would involve you. " He tapped her chin lightly.

" Me ? "

" There is only one woman who can make me lose my mind, and there is only one woman who I would want to be in a very … uhm …. " he sniffed " … compromising situation with. "

" Two sides of the same coin ? " She rolled her eyes. " Really, Perry ? "

" Yes, really Perry … " In a semi-threatening move, he bent forward some more, placing his left knee on the couch next to her, gently holding her shoulders, and pushing her backwards onto the soft cushions. It took all his effort to do it gracefully, this excercise, using his heftiness as a tool. Not an obstacle.

She gasped and laughed out loud. " No, no, Perry, no. " Her back pressed into the notepad that she left on the couch earlier. She dropped her pen and chuckled, pushed her hands against his chest, which was of no use at all. " Nooooo … " Laughing out loud herself, she felt his cheek smiling against the elongated column of her elegant throat, his kiss there as inevitable as it was enticing. " Perry … Ken. He's in his office, he's still around. "

" I know. " Perry maneuvered himself into the other corner of the couch and sat down, pulled out his own note pad from underneath him and threw it on the floor. One hand reached out for her.

" Come sit with me, baby, please. " He sighed. " I need to think. I need you here with me. You make me think more clear. "

" I can do that. " She shook off her heels in the way she had done it in the dream he had enjoyed earlier that day. He watched her fold her legs underneath her, waited patiently until she had installed herself against him completely, and brought his arm around her, his hand caressing her shoulder. She looked up at him.

He kissed her lips lightly, then looked into her eyes. " I love you. " The faraway look in his eyes now focussed as he continued watching her watching him, as in a full circle. The world could easily vanish without their notice, and maybe it already had. The demons could easily vanish without their notice too, and maybe they already had as well.

He rest his head against the backrest, and pulled her closer, then leaned his head sidewards on her curls. " This is good. "

Dawdling, her opulent fingers caressed his dimples and the small strip above his all day beard, smooth and trim now. The muscles of her inner thighs tightened involuntarily, the skin still sensitive, memories and feelings of last night twirling, craving for her attention.

" What's this? " Just near the right dimple there was a small scratch, a little abrasion that hadn't been there before.

" Mmm ? " His eyes were closed, he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

" Did you cut yourself shaving ? "

" This morning, yes. " He mumbled.

" Old razor ? "

" No. Old skin. " He opened one eye, smiled, and closed it again. She kissed the little wound.

" Well, I'm just glad you shaved. "

" Why ? " But he rest one hand on her thigh momentarily.

" Just saying. " She gave her head a tilt, and lay back against him.

" Sure. " He chuckled low, cherishing her, bringing both his arms around her. It was silent for a few moments, and she was about to doze off when a rumble started in his chest again.

" Della? " He said low, lazily, not really pronouncing her name, merely humming it.

" Hmmm? "

" I'm glad you shave too … "

" Perry Mason … " Fully awake again, she gasped, sat up and looked at him, incredulous. His eyes were closed, his nostrils flared, but the rest of the stone-faced mask remained stoic in the most charismatic way.

" You ___did_ have oysters for lunch, didn't you ? Not mussels ? "

" No. Oysters of course. It's an oyster bar. " He smiled. " Come here. " He pulled her closer.

" What did you have? Rockefeller ? " She closed her eyes and smiled, relaxed against his chest.

" No. Too much salt. Someone, I'm not mentioning any names here, is forcing me to change my diet. "

" Uh. So what did you have? Angels on Horseback ? "

" No. Though it would have been appropriate to have some angels around to fight your demons with… No, I had them with a special mignonette sauce, prepared with soya. Pretty good actually. Good combination. "

" Sounds nice. "

" Yes. Sweet and a little bit salty … Like you. " He kissed her curls, then her forehead, tasted her skin, sweet of course, and a little bit salty. " Did you know, Della, that oysters are hermaphrodite? Male and female … but not at the same time … " He rumbled lazily.

" That's why it's said oysters are an aphrodisiac, I believe. " She said, equally lazy.

" I know. It's what they say isn't it? But there is no effect of that sort right now. " Perry sighed.

" No ? "

" Right now, they just relax me. I could fall asleep right here, right now. Maybe I should have taken mussels instead, as Ken suggested. "

" Mmm-mmm. " She was about to doze off again.

" But mussels are an aphrodisiac too … "

" Mmm-mmm … "

" Do you know what they call that part of the mussel, that little piece it attaches itself to its habitat with? "

Her eyes were closed, but she felt her lashes flutter against the fabric of his shirt. " Uhm … beard ? "

" Yes. Mussels have beards, oysters don't. But they do filter water the same way for food. And, they both live in fresh water and salty water. And brackish water. "

" Now, that ___is_ information. Why are you telling me this? "

" Just saying … " His lips curled up into a smile. She didn't see it, but felt it, knew it was happening, and she shook lightly against his body.

She understood. Nobody overhearing this conversation would ever understand what it was about really, fully, but she did, and enjoyed it, enjoyed him, enjoyed her life with him this way. The double, triple meanings of their words, sharing secrets and fighting demons amongst others, metaphorically.

Her right hand had come to rest on his thigh, the other lingered underneath his tie, detaching the two buttons that could be left open without it being seen, and she coiled three fingers underneath the stiff expanse of his white shirt. There was no undershirt today. She had free rein and made use of it, tickled his chest, provoking an enticing little tremor, and a small, enticing, but very deep groan. He placed his hand upon hers, and patted it softly. " I need to rest a little, baby, please rest with me. "

" I love you too. "

" But we have to wake up in time. "

" I'll make sure we will. " She eased against him.

" You've set your internal alarm? "

" I have. " She'd surely wake up in time for the next appointment.

" You're an angel. " He stated it. " My angel. "

The sound of him breathing was slowly lulling her to sleep again, like it had the night before. His soft snore, his solid heartbeat. The demons disappeared completely.

She made a decision.

He'd wake up. Because she'd wake up. In time of course.

And then she'd make him coffee.

- TBC -


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue  
**

" Coffee ? " She stood up slowly, straightening her skirt, searching for her heels.

He sighed sleepily, realizing what this offer meant. The demons had probably left for now. Or maybe forever. " Yes, please. " He reached out for her hand, to support her while she slid her feet into her few inches of artificial height. " Your coffee. "

The kitchen light flickered when she flipped the switch. She fluttered her lashes to the sudden brightness, and the first item that caught her eye was a little container with chocolate powder. Ken used to take some of it when it was late in the evening, when he couldn't concentrate anymore and needed something sweet to brighten up his brain, activate his mind.

She reached out for a coffee filter, and the container with coffee. Five level scoops of pre-ground coffee. Carefully, not to spill, she poured water into the coffee machine. Now, all that was left to do was wait. The coffee would come into being automatically now, it was a matter of the right ingredients put together rightly.

No tea.

Coffee. She had offered it herself.

Waiting for the water to run through the filter, she watched the little container on the other side of the counter, and thought how much the mud of coffee grounds resembled wet cocoa powder.

Cocoa powder.

Chocolate.

An aphrodisiac.

Less caffeine than coffee. Sweet, with a little salty after taste.

Hot chocolate.

He hadn't had cocoa since he was a boy. It would absolutely remind him of his younger days, and cause an ear-to-ear smile on his weathered face, his aged skin would probably blush a little. It would mellow him, relax him, make him feel rejuvenated maybe. It would certainly be something else. Not necessarily better maybe, but different. That's what he had said, wasn't it? Something like: ___I'll drink whatever you make me, just differ it sometimes._

" Now that is a good idea. " Della Street said, stretched herself out by bringing her arms up, and yawned elegantly.

Yes, one of these days, a perfect moment would present itself for a fresh pot of cocoa. For now, coffee would do fine.

Just fine.

___******- And complete -**_

_Notes:_

_1) Very rarely, it happens that the two different parts (the two halfs) of a coffee bean become one during their growing proces. If so, the bean is called 'pearl'._  
_(If you don't know why this remark is here, read the story again. Or just leave this end note for what it is; just an extra note...)_

_2) This story was beta'd by wonderful OldEnglishD, who is the most patient, intelligible and supportive editor AND writer. In the last four years, she has built a complete arc of subsequent stories about the romance of the 'young' Perry Mason and Della Street, and her stories are a joy to read for more reasons than I can mention here. I'm glad she's found time to read and comment on my stories to make them better so far._

_3) Thank you for reading. _

_4) kaleen1212: I've finished another story! DNPLC: yes, we should... _


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